


Follow The Blackbirds Home

by LittleSilverBirds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Gen, M/M, mental illness sort of, whats a destiel without deans daddy issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:15:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSilverBirds/pseuds/LittleSilverBirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deans still reeling from his fathers latest disappearing act and he's doing pretty well sticking to his "No attachments" rule. Until, that is, he meets Castiel, a quiet boy suffering more than usual from the nightmares and visions of a bloody man begging for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably edit this one a lot, I posted this one to motivate myself to finish the rest of it. This is gonna be a slow one sorry guys

He always wakes up afraid but at this point it was too regular to be really, truly frightening. Dreams of crows and black birds swirling round in a blizard of white, and a man in the middle of it all. And he'd push and push through the snow to get to him but he never got there. It didnt matter because the man was always standing over his bed when he woke up.

He'd beg him to help, but he didnt know what he wanted him to do. So he just reached into his bedside drawer and downed another couple of the pills they gave him for schizophrenia and it went away after a minute. This morning he was up in time to see the man striding across from the corner to loom over him and yell at him for help, blood running from his temple.

Only this time he did something different, he warned him not to grab his pills. He got increasingly angry, yelled louder than before. His voice cracked in places but he disappeared like before. And Castiel sank back against his pillows again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until the throbbing stopped.

* * *

 

 

By Thursday he'd already earned a badboy reputation simply for his old leather jacket stolen from John that no matter how many times you washed it always smelled of his cologne, and the fact he didnt turn up for half his classes on time. The latter was because he didnt know his way around the school and his default response to being reprimanded was excessive schmooze, especially for the old batty teachers. For the male teachers he automatically straightened his back and addressed them as Sir, which students took to be snark but was honestly because thats what John drilled into him.

No one bothered Sammy at least. Yet. Because he was the nameless brother of the nameless new guy badboy from nowhere. He internally kicked himself because he had two years of this school at least, what'd happen when the hype wore off and he was revealed to be not actually that interesting, just another pretty face? He'd already heard some whispers, girls thinking he'd had _so_ many girlfriends, the guys trying to figure him out as in whose girlfriend was most at risk and could he beat their ass into the ground. The answer to the latter was yes, he could.

They'd be sorely disappointed when they found out his girlfriend total was zero. Or did Robyn count? He didnt really want to think about Robyn, it made his heart ache because he thought he really...

" _Winchester_ ," the old bat at the front of the class said pretentiously, "I _asked_ what was your answer?" and pointed at some equation on the blackboard that was probably really easy.

"Didnt write one miss," he replied, glancing down at his glaringly white paper on the desk, warming in the sun, with his hands in his pockets. "I'm just a dumbshit."

"That'll be a detention," she said over the resounding murmur of quiet amusement, almost absently like this was the fifteenth she'd doled out today. "Thats the fourth time you've refused to do work in this class."

He shrugged, staring out the window again. For once, he almost longed to be on the road, and pretended the sunlight heating him through the glass was coming through the window of the Impala and everything was okay.

* * *

 

 

Dad was home for once, and he'd made some sort of cheese riddled bake with pasta and a sauce instead of ordering take out. Thats where the miracles ended because after that he barely acknowledged his kids.

Anna wanted to tell him about her day but he brushed her off, retreating into the study to reappear an hour later with papers and things in his hands coming to rest at the kitchen table after a walk round the house muttering. The man couldnt sit still anymore, he hadnt been able to for around four years. But in the past two his books actually took off and he was away from home a lot more.

Castiel asked him if he could skip one or two book tours or just spend a little time with Anna when he was here but he was full of shit, all his promises fell through.

He wasnt a father he was someone pretending to be.

* * *

 

 

There was a cliff near the house, not so near it'd be in danger, but near enough that a ten minute walk would get him there. He liked to sit there nowdays. Listening to the waves crash on the bottom, feeling the breeze on his face, forgetting the world.

He'd look down the cliff sometimes, right to the bottom, and his head would yell " _Jump_!" as his heart threw itself over the edge anyway. He wondered if it'd feel like flying, instead of falling like those few seconds he was airborne after jumping off the shed roof pretending to be Superman because Sammy wanted to be Batman that day. Sam broke his arm, Dean got a bruise that wasnt from the fall.

He never did jump, but the feeling was still there. The cliff became his favourite spot, regardless of what he was invited to or who would be there. He'd declined and just went to the cliff instead. He could forget there.

When he was nine Dean had been in seven schools, had no friends and knew mom was dead and wasnt coming home. Sammy didnt even know who she was. Didnt know what her voice sounded like. And his heart hurt in a weird way for the kid. He barely even knew dad for chrissake.

The man left them in whatever motel they were staying in and came back late while Dean pretended to be asleep on the bed he shared with Sammy, curled round him to keep him safe. He told himself he didnt know what from other than the kids nightmares and monsters under the bed but he couldnt deny the heavy beat of his heart he felt in his throat when the door flew open and slammed shut again as dad stumbled around and cursed.

Sixteen and in the front seat with a black eye and the heat of anger in his veins, dad driving to dump him at some undisclosed location right after picking him up from some boys home he left him to rot in for looking after Sam. He was silently seething. Sam in the back seat utterly oblivious. He sometimes thought he switched off to it all, chose not to let whatever dad did sink in.

He wished he'd stayed at that boys home. He was happy. He missed Robyn, he missed the other kids, Sonny. But his brother took priority. He saw the unbuttoned shirtsleeves and hated his dad. He'd had a huge argument with him on a country road where no one could see. He'd been making remarks about leaving him, neglecting Sam, riling him up. He knew what he was doing. Well he knew what he was doing, but really he was just a dumbshit who knew fuck all. So he got in a yelling match, provoked him, and got a black eye and told to get his ass back in the car.

He didnt expect to see Bobby at the house they pulled up outside. They were staying the night, then dad was moving on. Dean wanted to fight. Just fight someone, a tree, anything. But he was drained. Couldnt even return the rough hug Bobby gave him, staring at the ground.

Bobby and John argued that night. John wanted to take Sam but Bobby saw through his shit and told him no. And they fought for a long time, the yelling working its way into Deans skull like little bugs eating their way in. He convinced himself the tears running down his cheeks werent real because he wasnt a baby. He didnt cry. He drew his knees up to his chest when the door slammed so hard the whole house shook, the tight feeling in his throat refusing to go away.

The thin blanket covering his knees dried his fake tears when he pushed his face into it, his cheek still hurt, Sammy still asleep on the bed next to him. Every bit of this his fault.

They got themselves registered at a school with Bobby as their gaurdian since John wasnt coming back. Dean moved his and Sammy's shit into separate rooms once it was clear they were living here now apparently, they guest bedroom was free for the guests they wouldnt have. Dean wasnt looking forward to school on Monday, whereas Sam was practically bouncing.

Bobby probably knew it was his fault, but he didnt yell like Dean expected. He just looked at him. He was probably walking on eggshells since Dean looked like he was about as fragile as one. He dicovered Bobby made the move up here since it seemed like the best option. It must've been hard though, given the business with his wife and all that. But apparently he was only human and a fresh start up here seemed good.

Half of him wished he was still out there on the road, he'd feel less sick there than here. He wasnt like Sam, he couldnt just settle easily into a place and call it home. His home was the car and dad was driving it round the country without him, probably not caring less about the kids he just left here.

The wind cropped up again, drawing him out of his thoughts. Reminding him it was getting late and he didnt have a phone yet despite the fact he'd been here nearly a fortnight. People had given him their numbers, told him to call them, text, whatever. He threw them all in the trash. He had a rule, dont get attached. Robyn was a classic example of why it was a bad idea to get attached, it hurts when the inevitable happens and you have to go. The only numbers he needed were Sams and Bobby's. No one elses. 

Dean'd met a lot of hunters who all waxed the same poetic about how the life of a hunter was a lonely one, the same hunters also tended to get mad at John for dragging his kids into it, and he wished he'd listened more closely. He might not be a hunter, might not ever become one, but when your family business is killing monsters, making friends isnt the best idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long to put up D:  
> It might have flaws, and I may come back to edit more later

After school there was a scuffle, and it practically called to Dean to join in. He was ravenous to fight someone, to bruise his knuckles or break a nose. So he threw his bag in his locker and ran towards it, but came up short when he saw it wasnt a fight but a beating. Three guys bearing witness to some poor shit getting hit over and over. That right there was something he wouldnt tolerate, not for one minute.

He didnt even think as he barelled through the bystanders and tackled the guy with the stained varsity to the ground, pinning him for all of a minute before he was overpowered. The guy was bigger, older and played football, and soon got the better of him. The smart half of Deans brain was screaming _MISTAKE_ at him, while the other half just screamed.

It was a short fight, they were both equally beat up but by the end Dean was the one on the ground with the victim. Fair enough by his standards. He was dazed and a little sick but he'd had worse. And the small crowd dispersed as someone leaned over him backlit by the sun so it looked like they had a halo.

"You okay?" he asked the one hanging over him. He could see him well enough now, and he had a bloody lip and and a little dirt smudged on his cheek.

He laughed breathlessly, "I should be asking you that. That was dumb."

He sat back and let Dean up, the grass was damp under his ass from yesterdays rain. Mud stained the heels of his palms. And the boy was cute, or maybe the pain was distorting it a little. He just sorta had that face that probably looked really nice when he smiled, and his hair was messy. Shut up Dean, digging your own grave.

"What the hell'd you do to make a senior beat your ass?" Dean tasted blood on his tongue, but he didnt spit. Impolite.

"I...he told me to read his palm, I told him it said he'd suck my dick," he said, ducking his head but Dean could still see the colour in his cheeks. And he laughed, for real for the first time in a while, because the hilarity of that situation was anecdote worthy he thought.

"And you never fought back?"

"I dont like fighting," he admitted like it was a crime. Like it made him less of a man. Dean thought the complete opposite.

"Good philosophy to live by dude," he told him, dusting off his knees and rising to his feet. He offered a hand to the boy, who didnt take it but murmured an apology under his breath. Now they were up he seemed like he was sort of distancing himself. From everything. Like, retreating behind a veil so no one could find him. God his eyes were blue.

"My names-"

"Dean, I know," he interrupted, shaking himself and sort of blushing again as he stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks."I- I mean I've heard about you. Around."

He was a strange kid, but Dean liked him for some reason. "Am I gonna get a name?"

He should be backing off right the fuck now because names were the start of getting attached to things. S'why he never let Sammy name that bird he found last year and insisted on taking care of it for a few days. He'd lied when he said it slipped away in the night, John came home and broke its neck outside, effectively ending its suffering. But here Dean was, making friends. Breaking the rules and getting attached. The boy hesitated, kicking at the grass,

"C-Castiel. Sorry, its weird."

"I think its a cool name," he smiled warmly for his benefit, but the boy was turning and grabbing his bag off the ground walking quickly in the other direction. "Hey where you goin'?"

He paused a few paces from Dean, "I- home. I'm sorry I need to- I have to go."

"You gonna be alright?" Dean knew he sounded desperate to go with him, which he sort of was but because he wanted to make sure he was okay and maybe get to know him better. He didnt seem the type to have many friends. He shouldnt want that, he couldnt. He'd hurt him when John came back.

"Yes!" he yelled back, now far ahead of Dean as he started jogging away and Dean got the hint. He might've felt a little disheartened and left behind, abandoned maybe, but he sucked it up. It was better that way. Sam appeared out of virtually nowhere and started asking why he wasnt at the front of the school, he'd been waiting, why was he all beat up. So he distracted himself with answering his brothers questions as they walked back to Bobby's, telling more lies than he should.

* * *

 

He couldnt get Dean Winchester off his mind. Not when he took Anna to the park, not as he tried to focus on his homework, not while he drowned himself in his music. He intrigued Castiel. The boy clearly had secrets, he wasnt very good at hiding it. He'd seen the conflict in his eyes as he spoke with Castiel, so he made the choice for him and tore himself away before he could do something dumb. Like invite him over after school or something. And he obviously hadnt heard the rumours yet, the ones of how mental Castiel was. It wasnt his fault. Well, thats what they taught him in therapy.

They thought it was brought on by his mothers death since he kept making dad cry when he told him mommy was sitting in her chair again. After that it was more people, people he'd never met, they assumed he'd seen them on TV or something. When the shrink didnt work, the meds seemed to work. Of course, there was that period of two months where he stopped taking them when he was fourteen. It was rough for everyone.

He found himself sketching a hand with bruised knuckles in the margin, before that there'd been a too familiar face and a black bird. He scribbled over them both before crumpling the paper and taking a new sheet, he hadnt done any homework yet anyway.

"Castiel," she said from behind him, as usual the throbbing at his temple came soon after. Against himself he turned to face her, she stood by his door dripping wet but the droplets never hit the floor. "Please baby, listen-"

"You're not real," he replied deadpan, already getting to his feet to fetch a couple of pills from the bottle in his nightstand. "I dont have to listen to anything."

"Cas please- Dont take those. Hear me out just please-" He threw a couple back and waited for her to stop telling him to listen, clenching his fists tight. She was dead. His mom was dead. She'd been dead for years. It was a hallucination.

Eventually she went quiet, and disappeared entirely. The headache remained though. He ended up just laying on his bed staring at the wall because he wasnt going to get any homework done anyway. Too many stray thoughts to catch, too restless. And too many of those thoughts dedicated to Dean Winchester, all questions. Who was he? Where did he come from? What brought him here? Thoughts he didnt want.

Anna was in bed, dad was too, the house sighing quietly in its sleep. Floorboards creaking gently under the feet of ghosts, curtains moving slightly in a silent breeze. This house was old, and Castiel never liked being alone in it from the start. Too much history, so much it was an omnipresent weight that didnt seem to bother anyone else. It made him wonder if he really was nuts.

He wouldnt sleep tonight. He was exhausted but he knew he wouldnt. Sleep was a rare gift nowdays. With his relationship with his father being stretched thinner and thinner, the man never being home, and his distant aunt threatening to intervene every other day over the phone in shrill and other times vaguely threatening tones, sleep came second to the stress old women warned would make your hair turn grey. He closed his eyes anyway, hoping maybe he could pretend until his alarm went off in the morning.

* * *

 

The senior found Dean a day or two later at his locker, called him a "goddamn fud" and slammed him into a locker. It made his boytoys giggle and they moved on. A lot less than he was expecting but whatever. For some reason he didnt even feel mad. He'd gone past being overly angry, wanting a fight, to not feeling anything in particular.

Whatever it was it couldnt be good. He'd heard of people losing their souls but that couldnt be it. Not in a place as mindnumbingly boring as this. He felt something at lunch though, seeing Castiel across the canteen and getting a wave back. Something probably described as utterly childish joy. It was the first they'd interacted in the past couple of days and he couldnt shake the feeling of wanting to get to know him better. He was interesting in the blandest way. Just the basest form of curiosity prodding him to go up to the kid and ask questions, interrogate him like he was some alien.

Course Sam could see right through him and he wasnt gonna lie to the kid. Yeah, he knew Dean wanted to befriend him, but he also knew he wasnt gonna. Rule number one, no attachments. And Sam knew better than to argue. Instead he distracted him with homework and other crap he pretended to need help with. God the kid was so much happier without dad, he was in his element with this school crap and he had friends (but still chose to hang out with Dean at lunch) and even had a thing for this girl, Jessica. Warmed the cockles of his black heart, it did.

He could tell Dean wasnt into it today though, and didnt press more when Dean said he didnt know what was wrong. Offered a movie night to see if that'd clear it. Dean was willing to try it. But even halfway through Aliens, on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and Bobby complaining about everything he couldnt shake it. Just an emptiness he didnt like and Castiels crooked half-smile and awkward wave stuck on repeat in his head.

This was nothing like when he wanted to get to know Robyn. It couldnt be that, no way. This was something way, way worse.

He didnt like it. It was uncomfortable, sickly, bad. Worse than when he found out he got carsick, that was equal parts humiliating and awful. No this was just concentrated bad.

"I'm goin' to bed," he said finally, when he couldnt take it anymore, "See ya in the mornin', kiddo."

* * *

 

Castiel stared at the ceiling in his room. Blank and white and unbroken except for the light fitting. One corner, with the desk, devoted to pencils and things. He didnt have many things. A few figurines on a shelf, relics of when he actually had interests. He removed the picture frames last year, so the walls were bare. And whatever plushies he had were in a box in the attic or his sisters room, he had no use for them anymore.

He felt him in the room. He's still here. This house was full of people. But he felt him the strongest. He tried shutting his eyes but his murmur was still there, covering his ears didnt block it out so he didnt try. Something fell off the dresser five feet away. His office chair swung side to side lazily. He was making a path round the room and Castiel was afraid. This happened nearly every night with increasing frequency and intensity.

His closet door creaked, then his bedframe shook as if there were two big hands on it. And his blanket tore off him and he bit back a cry. But he couldnt take his medication, he'd already had it for tonight. He knew who it was and he could practically hear him.

 _Let me go let me go let me go_ , he said. The same words scrawled over and over on pieces of paper on his desk. He knew who it was and he wanted to but didnt know how.

_Let me go let me go let me go let me_

" _Go_!" he yelled, "Go _away_!"

Castiel buried his face in his pillow as he trembled, out of fear mainly, but from some unnamed sadness that'd been bone deep for as long as he could remember. Dad probably heard that, Anna too. But it wasnt uncommon for him to have nightmares and call out. Well, thats what they believed anyway. Nightmares. He went to the desk again, papers scattered everywhere, some blank, some full, some scarcely used and scribbled upon and some holding the face of a green eyed boy who didnt think he was crazy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took ages to post sorry. Its a short one but theres more to come, its taking an age to sort...

Dad didnt let him go to school for a couple of days. Said he heard him calling out in the night, which wasnt new, but thought a few days off would do him good.

He'd been more and more restless in the past few weeks, Castiel hadnt been sleeping much. Dad suggested seeing a doctor about it, but a doctor wouldnt get rid of him. They'd just call him crazy like everybody else. Send him to a mental hospital or something, a padded room and no windows. He was there at breakfast this morning. He couldnt see him but he knocked the milk carton to the floor and dad made a too cheery remark about not crying over spilt milk. He thought it was him, him and his unstable hands. The hands that could write but dropped things all the time. Dad put it down to the emotional trauma he'd experienced or something. Like a nervous tick. He thought he was crazy too.

He was glad to be at school for once. Away from dads tired eyes and scruffy beard and forced kind smiles. He was trying hard for him but Castiel knew how difficult it was for him too. He probably wanted to deal with a distant, silent kid as much as Castiel wanted to be the distant, silent kid. But whenever he opened his mouth someone yelled " _Crazy_ ," so he thought it was better just to shut up. People were creeped out by the way he stared. His "ticks." Those hand gestures, or jerky shrugs or nodding and shaking his head, mumbling under his breath on the days he didnt take his medication. They all took it for crazy. He was telling him to shut up. That all stopped though when he got this new medication, it only really bothered him at night.

It was raining. Again. It had been for a few days.

Dean wasnt there for homeroom. But a few hours later he was in Bio theory, spotted Castiel at the back and he made a beeline for him instead of his usual seat before quietly asking if the seat next to him was taken, it wasnt. He sat down heavily, sighing. A murmur went round a few people, strange looks as a semi-popular kid sat next to a decidedly unpopular crazy kid and didnt tease him.

"You havent been in for a while. You okay? Someone botherin' you?" Dean asked, frowning at him. Castiel shook his head a little, eyes darting round the room. People were watching. He could feel them watching, waiting for Dean to do something. High schoolers were animals, and they were waiting for Dean to prove which side he was on. Castiel still wasnt entirely sure. He thought, hoped, it was his.

"Hey," Dean said again, separating Castiels hands. He'd started picking at the skin around his fingernails, nervous reaction. He wasnt a coward, he didnt have any problems being looked at, it was just with dad being home he was at the end of his rope pretty much. He felt ragged. "Cas? What s'matter?"

"Nothing."

He probably saw Cas watching the other people in the room, and turned round with a scowl on his face. His hair stuck up at the back in a little duck tail like he'd just woken up. The people who'd been staring promptly turned back to their work and settled for whispering among themselves. He hated feeling like Dean was his guardian or something. He'd rather feel like his friend.

"Listen," Dean said, but it wasnt unkind, "Dont think about them. They dont mean shit."

"Its not them," he said, biting his tongue before he could say the default 'I'm not crazy' like he'd said so many times. And Deans mouth turned up at the corner in a lopsided smile as he asked what is it then? Castiel wanted to pick again, but pulled his hoodie sleeves down over his hands instead, shifting in his seat. He didnt answer the question.

"I like you. You know why?" Castiel shook his head, "I like you because you dont lie. When you dont wanna tell the truth you just dont speak."

"I lied to you when I said I'm not insane," he mumbled, not sure if he was telling the truth or trying for humour. Dean chuckled quietly anyway, and it drew a little ghost of a smile from him. He was letting him believe that he was nervous around people too, which was another lie.

"I think you're the least crazy person in this room."

For some reason it warmed him. Validation perhaps. It was a nice feeling anyway. Dean looked like he wanted to say more but their teacher called for silence while she scratched something onto the board. He stayed there a second, and held his gaze before he turned back to the front, listening to the teacher launch into something about stem cells. Dean quietly got out his notebook and a pen from his beat up school bag that looked like it'd come from a thrift store. His handwriting was surprisingly neat, and the notebook fuller than Castiel expected. He'd made as many asumptions about Dean as were proven wrong, but he still barely knew him and even though he trusted he was a good person he looked like he had a lot of secrets too.

* * *

Dad was due to leave tomorrow night, for another book tour. He'd been home for three days and already he was leaving again. Now Castiel knew that was the life of an author, book tours and such. But for some reason this time he wanted to beg him to stay. His visions, hallucinations, whatever they were, were getting worse and what he needed was a little stability in his life.

Anna came into his room ever so quiet, and sat on his bed with the doll she'd decided to drag with her tonight. She usually just sat there, sang a little, combed her dolls hair and generally wasnt a nuisance. But Castiel had a headache tonight, and it seemed to only get worse when Anna turned up. She started to sing softly, and he put his head on the desk not concerned that the ink might still be wet and prayed the throbbing would stop. But it didnt stop, it got worse.

His sister launched into You Are My Sunshine for the third time since she got here and he let out a small whimper, not that she'd hear or understand if she did. It just hurt way too much.

* * *

He felt like that kid in the movies that lies staring at the ceiling thinking about their problems for like half the movie. Because thats what he was doing. Staring at the ceiling in his borrowed room thinking about dad and whether he'd come home in time for christmas or let them have it without a drunk bastard ruining everything. He couldnt remember the last time he had christmas in an actual house. Maybe they'd have a real christmas dinner. Maybe.

Sam was enjoying it at least. He enjoyed school, having friends, a stable place to live. He was loving every minute. He didnt even seem to care that it didnt look like dad wasnt coming back. Probably glad of it. He didnt exactly have the best relationship with their dad given the fact he didnt know him before mom died. All he had were Deans patchy memories and weird, estranged family members occasionally popping up telling them how he was a good man.

Taking a look round his room it was just like a motel room only cleaner. Plain, pale blue walls, plainer furniture. But he'd been staring at the same walls for months and it was starting to get monotonous, suffocating. Even with the window open.

It'd take a while to really settle, he presumed.


End file.
